


Moonlight

by wraith17



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, fanfic of a fanfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-08
Updated: 2016-01-08
Packaged: 2018-05-12 14:27:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5669323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wraith17/pseuds/wraith17
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a fanfic of the fanfic 'The Art of Love' by dreameater. Check it out if you like whoffaldi but this is just a past twissy moment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Moonlight

Time is inconsequential to someone who doesn't live by dates and days, the mundane and the boring are shackles the Doctor has long since cast from his wrists and instead took up paint and canvas as his time pieces. Sitting up against the headboard the Doctor fidgets with his long fingers, dried paint clinging to the crevices of the nail, feeling too restless to sleep even after the distraction Missy granted him earlier. 

His lover but never muse lies in bed beside him, the soft glow of the full moon backlighting her and filling the bedroom with an ethereal quality. An arm stretches out towards him, the hand on his pillow, she'd fallen asleep petting his hair again. The other is resting demurely by her head, fingertips glancing with the palm of her hand. Missy's full dark hair is spread out on her pillow in a halo effect, only one hair out of place, that single stubborn curl that refuses to stay a part of her elaborate hairstyles for long brushes along her sharp cheekbone and the tapering end of her eyebrow. Reaching over with an uncharacteristic gentility the Doctor tucks that curl off Missy's face, startled when that Need crashes over him like a wave, one that so far has never cropped up because of Missy, surprising him even as he does as it bids; he needs to paint her. 

Grabbing the closest blank canvas and a pencil the Doctor begins his sketch, choosing to focus in on Missy's slumbering face, mimicking with considerable skill the way her eyelashes kiss her cheeks, the slight part of her kiss swollen lips and the tiny catlike upturn of the corners. 

The only indicator of time passing is the moon's retreat from the sky, yielding centre stage to the sun. The Doctor has already moved on to painting Missy in blues and whites, continuing to mimic the moon's soft light even as Missy's soft curves are highlighted by the soft pinks of a new dawn.

Eventually Missy begins to stir from her slumber, lashes fluttering and limbs shifting much to the Doctor's dismay, him only interrupting his painting to hover over Missy on all fours and gently still her movements. A quietly murmured don't move and a fleeting kiss to her forehead is all she needs apparently as the Doctor draws back and takes up canvas and paintbrush once more. Missy staying in position, the only difference now her bright blue eyes are open, inquisitive and fortunately indulgent as she watches him work and occasionally glance up for reference. 

When the sun rises higher and the day has truly started Missy starts to squirm from the postponing of her morning routine, her bladder and stomach protesting the lazing about even as her mind is intrigued about what her lover found so fascinating, so early in the day, perhaps it was a bird. Finally he sets down his brush, looking up at Missy with the boyish grin she finds so cute and beckons her over to look. Quick as a flash Missy is hovering at his side, the sheet covering her naked body left behind as her lips press to his shoulder, to hide her astonishment and blush as she looks at the painting. It was her, just her bathed in moonlight and asleep. Absolutely nothing else in the picture save a partial of the pillow and the sheet preserving her modesty. Missy could scarcely believe that he had felt inspired enough to paint her. She wasn't his muse, never had been and the sweetness of the gesture has Missy's heart beating harder in her chest as her affection for him grows stronger. 

Kissing his lips Missy cuddles against his side, sliding her fingers into his curls to pet him. "It's beautiful."

She is frozen with surprise when the Doctor presses it gently into her hands. "For you, just for you." Are his parting words before the Doctor kisses her blushing cheek and disappears into the bathroom, leaving Missy with her very own portrait. Feeling as if this meant something, like even though she isn't one of his muses, that the Doctor cared enough about her to paint her just because he could, because even if she wasn't his muse, she still mattered to him.


End file.
